Chapter 10 Seraphina
SERAPHINA
We arrived at the Callahan’s home a few minutes after six.
Lila had come by earlier with a plat of fresh strawberries from her garden.
Tyler and I had sampled a few, marveling that Lila could coax them into ripening so early in the season.
Tyler had declared them better than candy and suggested we make some kind of dessert with them to bring to Margaret.
However, as usual, I’d chosen to write a chapter instead of make shortcake.
So instead, we had a box with Lila’s gorgeous strawberries as our offering.
Hunter answered the door before we even knocked. “Hey. Welcome.”
“Hi there.” I had to fight the instinct to wrap my arms around him for a kiss. He looked absolutely delectable in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his muscular chest.
“Good to see you both,” Hunter said, holding out his hand to shake Tyler’s, then gave me a quick hug.
He smelled way too good.
“Come on in. Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Hunter said.
We followed him through the front entryway into the kitchen. I resisted the urge to wipe my sweaty palms against my jeans. Meeting Ivy James had me as giddy and excited as a teenage girl at her first school dance.
“You look beautiful,” Hunter said in my ear before we entered the kitchen.
“Thank you,” I said, staring up into his eyes, forgetting everything else for a moment.
“Hey, y’all.” Ivy stepped forward. “I’m Ivy.” She held out her hand for me to shake.
I was embarrassed by how sweaty my palm was and really hoped she didn’t notice. Happily, I didn’t have to worry for long because she said, “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m such a fan that I’m worried I’m going to make a dang fool of myself.”
Ivy looked exactly like she did in her videos, only a little less glamorous. Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she wore minimal makeup. Not that she needed any. She was breathtaking. A stab of insecurity came, but I pushed it aside, not wanting anything to wreck this moment.
“No, it’s the other way around,” I said. “You have no idea what your music’s meant to me.”
“It’s true,” Tyler said.
Hunter introduced us to Margaret and Wes, who I had seen occasionally around town. Margaret gave off earth mother vibes, holding out her hand to shake Tyler’s.
“It’s sure nice to have you here,” Margaret said.
“Thanks,” Tyler said, holding out the box. “We brought strawberries.”
“Oh, now that’s what I’m talking about,” Wes said. “We’re gonna make us some homemade strawberry ice cream.”
“That’s my mom’s favorite,” Tyler said.
“If you’re going to do that, you best get on with it,” Margaret said, before turning to me. “Our ice maker’s as old as dirt.”
“Hand crank’s the best kind,” Wes said. “Tyler, you want to help me? We’ll do it in our outside kitchen, otherwise Margaret gets mad at me for making a mess.”
“Salt goes everywhere,” Margaret said.
Tyler looked at me. “Is it okay, Mom?”
“Sure. Have fun.”
I couldn’t help but smile as Tyler bounded off like a puppy behind Wes, who was already describing the process.
“Hunter, take Ivy to the wine cellar and pick out a few bottles for tonight,” Margaret said. “I’m making fish tacos.”
“You got it.”
Hunter and Ivy went on their mission, leaving me with Margaret.
“Thanks for inviting us,” I said. Had I already said that?
“It’s about time we had you and Tyler over,” Margaret said. “Hunter’s been talking about you two a lot.”
“He has?”
She tilted her head, scrutinizing me with sharp eyes. “You’re even prettier than your author photos.”
“Oh, thank you. That’s kind.” I flushed at the compliment.
She lowered her voice. “Before they get back, I wanted to tell you a quick story. Hunter was telling me this morning that your mother’s name was Georgia.”
“That’s right. Just like his guitar.”
“When he told me that, I nearly fainted dead away. I’ll tell you why. When he was twelve years old, Wes took him to the guitar shop and bought him Georgia. He was excited, bursting into the house to show me what they’d come home with. ‘This is Georgia,’ he said to me, and I’d asked, ‘Why Georgia?’
“He thought for a second or two before he said, ‘She’s just a Georgia. Like someone I couldn’t remember but knew I’d lost and now here she is.’”
“Oh.” More of an outburst of air than a word.
“I know,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “I’d forgotten all about it until he mentioned the coincidence. There seem to be a lot of those between you.”
“It’s strange.”
“Some might say destiny or fate,” Margaret said, smiling. “Two people who search for words that tell stories. Match made in heaven, maybe?”
I smiled back at her. This was a woman who understood an artistic nature. No wonder Hunter loved her so much. “I guess we’ll see.”
“You’ve made him laugh again, and for that I can’t thank you enough.”
“I have?”
“Yep. And put a little bounce back in his step too,” Margaret said.
Hunter and Ivy returned with a few bottles of wine.
Soon, Hunter had one opened and I had a glass in my hand.
Ivy asked me questions about myself. Easy ones—where was I from; how long had I lived in Willet Cove; what year was Tyler in school; did I have a book coming out soon?
I relaxed right away. She was like my girlfriends.
Smart and curious, but kind too. Just a regular person, not the superstar she clearly became when she stepped on a stage or into a recording studio.
Outside on the patio, I saw Wes hunched over the ice cream maker, with Tyler right next to him cutting up the strawberries.
Margaret bustled around the kitchen, asking Hunter to grate cheese. Ivy was tasked with slicing up cabbage for the slaw. Margaret informed me that I wasn’t permitted to help, since I was a guest, and instead had me sitting at the island watching everyone else work.
“Did you two get a lot done today?” I asked.
“We recorded a demo of the new song we wrote together,” Ivy said. “And sent it off to Jack Wilder’s people.”
“You’re going to sing it with him?” I couldn’t keep the excitement out of my voice.
“Hoping to,” Ivy said. “If he likes it.”
“For now, it’s my voice,” Hunter said. “Adequate but nothing like Jack could do.”
“He’ll shred that song,” Margaret said.
“Can I hear it?” I asked.
“Sure,” Ivy said. “We’ll give you a little concert after dinner with both the new songs. See what you think. You can be our beta listener.”
“Really?” I bounced on the stool. “This is like Christmas.”
A few minutes later, the tacos were ready.
Margaret set up a buffet on one side of the island with everything one could want in a fish taco: slaw, a creamy lime salsa, avocados, pickled jalapenos, fresh cilantro, and warm corn tortillas that Margaret had heated directly on the gas burner.
Wes and Tyler came in from outside, eager to share an update on the ice cream situation.
“We’ve put it in the outside freezer,” Wes said. “Should be perfect in a few hours.”
We all lined up at the taco bar and then moved to the dining room where Margaret had the table set simply with silverware, napkins and water glasses. The table looked out through sliding glass doors to the patio and the darkening ocean beyond.
The food was delicious—pan fired halibut and Margaret’s homemade slaw with the lime crema melting on the tongue.
“This slaw,” Ivy said, closing her eyes after the first bite. “Margaret, did you put something illegal in here. It’s way too good.”
“Nothing illegal tonight,” Margaret said. “Although, one time I grazed my knuckles shredding the cabbage, and I’m pretty sure there was blood in the slaw.”
“She’s making that up,” Wes said. “There’s no blood in the slaw.”
“Not tonight,” Margaret said, eyes sparkling.
The conversation moved from one thing to another.
Wes asked Tyler about what position he played on the baseball team.
Tyler told him he played short stop and was working on improving his batting average.
Wes listened with genuine attention, asking the right questions.
Tyler ate up every moment, clearly delighted to talk baseball with someone who followed the game as closely as he did.
Ivy had questions for me about writing. How did I know when a book was finished? Did I write every day or in bursts? Had I always written romance or had I started somewhere else?
“I always want to write romance,” I said. “From the time I used to get them by the dozen at the library. There was this kiosk of paperbacks just as you walked in. That’s all I needed.”
“What did your dad think about your reading choices?” Hunter asked.
“At first, he teased me about them. My dad taught English but he liked a commercial type book as much as the next guy, especially cozy mysteries. So he didn’t mind too much.
Then one day, I found him reading one of the romances, so into it that he didn’t even hear me come in the room. After that, he didn’t tease me again.”
“I love it,” Ivy said. “And thank goodness he didn’t squash your love of romance or there would be a lot of sad readers wishing for something they didn’t even know they’d lost.”
“But how could they, if they didn’t exist?” Tyler asked. “You can’t miss something you’ve never had.”
“Disagree,” Ivy said. “That’s what our new song’s about.”
I thought about twelve-year-old Hunter walking into this kitchen with a guitar named after something he’d lost without knowing what it was.
“How long have you two known each other?” I asked, looking between Hunter and Ivy.
“Fifteen years,” Ivy said. “I met him at a writers’ round at The Meadowlark Café in Nashville. He was twenty-three and I was twenty. Both of us scared out of our minds.”
“I was so nervous I spilled my drink on Ivy,” Hunter said. “All over her best dress.”
“No, really?” I asked.
“My only dress,” Ivy said. “But I barely noticed that I was damp and smelled like cheap beer. I was just so happy to be there for a writers’ round.”
“What’s a writers’ round?” Tyler asked.